


Snakes and Stones May Break Mickey’s Bones

by Whatsastory



Series: Trope Me, Baby, One More Time [14]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: First Pet, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-23
Updated: 2020-04-23
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:40:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23798599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whatsastory/pseuds/Whatsastory
Summary: “What about this, this turtle here?” Mickey says a little too pleadingly.“That’s a tortoise. And no. I’m gonna get the snake.”“Well...” Mickey breathes. “I’m not fucking cleaning the little shit.”
Relationships: Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Series: Trope Me, Baby, One More Time [14]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1668712
Comments: 24
Kudos: 214





	Snakes and Stones May Break Mickey’s Bones

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to Squiggle_giggle for the roundabout prompt!

Ian has always, always been a fucking weirdo, Mickey thinks. Even from a young age, what was it, fifteen? Dreaming of going off to some 'Stan to get his ass blown off in the middle of the desert. And then when he came back he realized his new dream was to be an EMT? Driving around the streets of Chicago and what? Sticking his finger in people's fucking bullet holes? Nah, fuck that. Ian's fucking weird. 

He's always been a little on the macabre side, Mickey thinks, even if that's not exactly the word he would choose for it. Dark. Fucking twisted in his mindset, maybe. So it really shouldn't be any surprise to Mickey, though it is, when Ian decides he's ready to get his first ever pet and drags Mickey down to the pet store to pick something out. It's not that he wants a pet. It's which pet he picks that really solidifies Mickey's thoughts about him.

Mickey looks through rows and rows of fish, taking in the colors and watching their stupid little mouths gulp and gasp. He drags his fingers along the glass, careful not to make any loud noises because he's not a fucking asshole and he actually (secretly) really likes most animals. 

"See any you like?" He asks Ian, eyes particularly drawn to a freshwater ray. 

"No. Fish are kind of..." Ian says and waves his hand vaguely. "Boring. I want something I can, y'know. Hold. Bond with." 

"Okay..." Mickey sighs and keeps walking, but truthfully he gets it. 

He comes next to a cage near the back that has two little kittens with two little button kitten noses, and Mickey would never fucking admit it, and he would knock your teeth down your throat if you ever fucking mentioned it... but maybe he lets out an excited little squeak. Grunt. It's a grunt. 

It's just that one is a stripy type orange, and the other one is black, and, uh, hello. It's like they're their children! 

He sticks his fingers in through the bars and practically fucking coos when one of the little babies bites playfully at him. 

"What about one of these little fuckers?" He asks and tries to keep the smile from his eyes. 

"A cat?" 

"S'wrong with cats?" Mickey asks, a little offended. "They kind of look like us, don'tcha think? Could name em' firecrotch and badass."

Ian smirks and sidles up next to Mickey and leans in close. "Just haven't ever known you to like pussy, is all. Plus, think of cleaning a nasty ass litter box. Shredding up our furniture? We're not cat people, Mick." 

Mickey flaps his free hand in Ian's face and shoos him away, looking back longingly at their floofy little tails. They’re really fucking cute. And cuddly. And maybe he’s already attached. But Ian’s the one that wanted the pet, so he fucking goes on his way. 

He's walking through, minding his own business when he hears it. It's loud and screechy and annoying as all hell, but it's unmistakable. 

"Fuck!" It screeches, and Mickey stops in his tracks and stares at a blue and gold macaw, according to the sign, and smiles so wide his face hurts. 

"Ian!" He yells, and stares in awe at the bird that might just be his spirit animal. 

"A bird?" Ian asks.

"No, no. You don't understand. This bird fucking talks," Mickey says, giddy with excitement. "Like, he fucking speaks."

"Oh? Hello," Ian says sweetly to the bird. "Are you a pretty bird?" 

The parrot eyes him warily, like he's already sick of Ian's bullshit, and god dammit, Mickey and this feathered fuck are kindred spirits. The bird cocks his head as Ian continues baby talking him, listening, and no doubt thinking that Ian is a colossal idiot. Finally, it seems as though he's had enough. 

"Fuck off," the parrot says in his strange robotic voice. 

"Hah!" Mickey yells and slaps at Ian's shoulder. 

"Fuck. We're getting him. We're taking him home and I'm gonna fucking teach him everything I know!" 

"Pretty sure he's just gonna end up screaming my name if you teach him what you know," Ian smirks like the cocky bastard that he is. 

"Fuck off," the parrot says again. 

"Anyway," Ian says and side eyes the bird, "he's two grand,” he says as he points to the sign with the price and a warning that the bird bites. 

He at least as the decency to sound a little saddened by it as well, so Mickey can’t be too upset. It’s okay, he’ll suck it up and leave his animal soul mate behind. 

He looks at the bunnies, guinea pigs and hamsters, and doesn’t even give them a second thought. A pet is one thing, but a fucking rodent? Nah. No thanks. They fucking reek and he ain’t cleaning that cage. 

There’s not much left except for the reptile section, and that’s not fucking happening, eith-

“Oh my god, Mickey. I want this one. We’re getting it.” Ian grins bright and points a long, freckled finger toward one of the glass tanks. Mickey swallows the spit pooling in his mouth and takes a tentative step forward. 

“No. Uh-uh. No fucking way, man. A snake? I don’t fucking think so. Pick something else.” 

“C’mon, Mick. Look at ‘im. He’s a... sand boa,” he says as he reads the sign. 

“Thing looks like a fucking chode. Pick something else,” Mickey says again and crosses his arms for emphasis. 

“No... no, I think he’s the one.” 

Mickey bites his lip and looks around frantically- back to the sweet little kittens to the fucking tarantula that’s looking more enticing by the second. 

“What about this, this turtle here?” He says a little too pleadingly. 

“That’s a tortoise. And no. I’m gonna get the snake.” 

“Well...” Mickey breathes. “I’m not fucking cleaning the little shit.”

“No one asked you to... what, you scared of snakes or some shit? Cause if you are, I won’t bring one into the house, Mick. Just tell me.”

Mickey scoffs, affronted at the mere thought of being scared of something so small. He’s not scared of it. He’s not. Fuck that snake. 

“Not scared of shit, Gallagher. Fuck you.” 

“Good. Then I’m getting him.” 

They get the fucking snake. It sits in a tank on their dresser with it’s heat lamp and heat pad and beady fucking eyes that stare into Mickey’s soul every minute of every fucking night. It’s freaky little tongue shoots out and tastes the air, pining for Mickey’s flesh, he just knows it. 

He can’t sleep with it there. Even with the light turned off at night and it burrows down into its little substrate bed, he knows it’s just begging to get out and sink it’s fucking fangs into his neck. He’s not scared of it. He just doesn’t like it, okay? Though, it is a little funny that Ian did end up naming him, “Chode,” but still. Mickey still doesn’t fucking like it. 

Ian takes care of the snake. Feeds it frozen pinkie baby mice (Mickey puts his foot down and tells Ian there is NO fucking way he’s feeding it living shit). Freshens it’s water everyday. Holds it just the right amount (they’re not social snakes, Mick, we just gotta get him used to us). 

Cleans his cage religiously. 

It’s one such time, a lazy Sunday afternoon, that Ian is doting on his little fucking dick snake, and that’s not a euphemism. He puts the snake in a plastic container with holes poked in the lid so that he can properly dump the bedding and put fresh in, and Mickey stays far the fuck away... usually. But this time, it just so happens that he leaves his cell phone in the bedroom, and has to go for it. 

His eyes skate over the little container that holds Chode, and he grabs his phone. Doubling back toward the door, he freezes in place. His heart palpates in his chest, racing wildly as adrenaline floods his system. Because. Because the fucking container is empty. 

“Ian,” he shakes out. “Ian...”

“What?” Ian asks and keep going at the dirty tank. 

“Ian, your. He’s. Ian.” 

He’s a babbling mess, he knows. But cut him a fucking break. The snake wants to kill him and he’s fucking loose. He’s gone and he’s probably tasting his way to Mickey right now. He’s gonna bleed him dry. Fuck, is he poisonous? Venomous. What the fuck ever. The point is, he’s out in their apartment fucking somewhere. Could be anywhere. 

Mickey looks up and ducks, like he thinks the snake is on the ceiling, just waiting for the perfect opportunity to pounce. Ian, of course, chooses this minute to turn around and finally give Mickey his full attention. 

“Jesus, Mick. What the fuck? Are you okay?” He puts a hand on Mickey’s back and rubs it soothingly, but honestly, fuck Ian. He’s the one that brought that thing in here. And now. Jesus. 

“Snake’s gone,” Mickey croaks and Ian freezes. 

“Ah, shit,” he says, much calmer than he has any fucking right to be. “Okay. Let’s look for him.”

“Look for him?!” Mickey explodes. “No! No! You look for him! He’s yours. I wanted a fucking cat! A cat that I could put a fucking bell on and know where the fuck he was at all time!” 

Ian stands back with wild eyes and an open mouth, and god of it doesn’t piss Mickey off. 

“Fuck you looking at? Find your fucking demon and put it the fuck away!” 

Mickey sits on the couch nervously with his feet up and his fingernails between his teeth. He jumps at every little creak and groan of the apartment, nearly shits himself every time he thinks he sees something out of the corner of his eye. 

Ian didn’t find the snake. 

He looked for a solid two hours, tossing and retossing the place to no avail. Mickey might just hate him. 

Mickey eases off the couch, careful of his footing, because if he doesn’t get a beer in him soon, he’s gonna bite his nails well past the quick. So he tiptoes in his own fucking place, like he’s back living with his dad and has a dick stuck up his ass, and it’s ridiculous. 

He gets to the kitchen, throws open the fridge, rips the top off of a cold bottle and tips his head back to let the bubbles drain down his throat. And then he feels it. The unmistakable sensation of something slithering over his fucking foot. 

He prays to god. Prays to whatever fucking deity that will make what he thinks he feels- not that. He’ll go to church if it’s not the snake. He’ll fucking go to monastery school if that’s what it takes. He’ll become a nun. He’ll swear off drugs and alcohol and dick for his whole life, as long as it’s not a fucking snake on his foot. 

He moves the bottle from his lips and places it on the counter. Closes his eyes tight. Slowly lowers his head. Opens his eyes. Focuses on the little piece of shit that thinks it owns Mickey. And. Fucking. Screams. 

“Ian! Ho-god, Ian!” 

Mickey likes animals, as we’ve already established. So he’s not gonna do some fucking bullshit like stomp it or kick it or maim the fucking thing. He does, however shake his foot so that it rolls off, and hops up on the counter.

Ian, to his credit (but still fuck him), comes in pretty quickly, and zeroes in on the little fucker. He picks him up easily, fucking cradles it in his hands like it’s not a little fucking death machine. 

“You found him! Thanks, Mick!” He says cheerily, and leans in for a kiss. 

“Get it the fuck away from me!” Mickey shrieks and leans away. 

“Well, I’ve gotta say, it’s a good thing you’re not scared of him, or this could have been real bad,” Ian says with a wink. 

Fuck Ian Gallagher. 

Mickey comes home from work later that week, exhausted and sweaty and fucking irritated. It’s been a long day, and he wants nothing more than a cold shower, a hot meal, and a good fuck. Not necessarily in that order. But Ian must have different plans, because he’s standing in front of the door with a wicked grin and his hands behind his back as soon as Mickey’s through the threshold. 

“Something I can help you with?” Mickey asks, thoroughly weirded out. 

“Went back to the pet store today.” 

“Oh, yeah?” Mickey asks and shucks off his boots. “Hope you took that fucking snake back.” 

“Nah. Chode is here to stay. Sorry. But...” 

In his hands is the tiny orange kitten with the tiny button kitten nose, and a fucking bell on his tiny little collar, and Mickey’s not ashamed to say that it’s love at first sight. 

“The black one already got adopted. But, meet Firecrotch,” Ian grins and hands the cat over. 

It’s okay, the orange one is the one Mickey wanted all along.


End file.
